


Darkness and Light

by Dancingsalome



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6839410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancingsalome/pseuds/Dancingsalome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fabien Marchal kills for the King. Claudine Masson saves people’s life. They are very different, but both search for truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Know Not Yet What to Call You

**Author's Note:**

> I started to write this fic after watching episode 5 which made me think there was an interesting dynamic between Fabien and Claudine. Two very different persons but who both serve the King. I was very happy when the rest of the season provided a few more scenes between them.
> 
> This chapter takes place after episode 5.

Fabien Marchal came back late at night. Claudine had expected him to return since the day he had left with the man she had saved and he had tortured, refusing to let her tend to the damage he had inflicted. Left her with table and floor covered in blood, with blood on her clothes and hands and on the surgeon’s saw. She had scrubbed the whole room, not content to only clean up the aftermath of the surgery, but the whole room, furiously working so she wouldn’t think about what had happened. And what was in store for her and her father later. They had known too much even before and the rumours about Marchal were dark and numerous. Her father had wanted them to go, to flee, but Claudine had refused. Where, after all, could they go and be out of reach from the long arm of the King?

It tooks days to clean everything, and her father left her to it, for once going to see his patients without her help. When everything was clean she warmed water for a bath, carrying the heavy pails of water from the well to the cauldron to warm, and then to the tub. There Claudine scrubbed herself as vigorously as she had cleaned the room, the harsh lye soap stinging her eyes when she washed her hair. When she was finished she sat down in front of the dwindling fire, clad only in her shift and a shawl. She combed the damp locks with her fingers to let them dry before she went to bed. The soap had dried out her skin, and she slowly rubbed in cream on her arms and legs, delighting in the scent or orange blossom. The house was silent, the night outside still, otherwise she wouldn’t have heard the soft knock on the door when it finally came. 

Her first reaction when she saw him was that of a doctor, the word spoken before she could stop them. “Are you hurt?”

He looked faintly amused as if the notion was laughable and shook his head. Claudine stepped aside, and he passed her, taking the rushlight from her hand as he did so. He strolled around the room, raising the rushlight to let its feeble light illuminate the jars and bottles filling the shelves. Claudine retreated to the fireplace, wishing for more clothes both for warmth and to shield her from him, even though he had only given her a glance so far. She watched him carefully, in his dark clothes his body melted into the shadows, while his face seemed unnaturally white. There was no hurry in his movements, his hand flickered through an open book on the table and he traced his fingers over the tools of her trade lying ready for use on a sideboard. Then he placed the rushlight in its holder and came to stand before her.

Up close Marchal looked gaunt and tired and Claudine wondered if he had slept since she saw him last. And she could smell him, sweat and smoke and the coppery stench of blood. Whatever assignment the King had sent him on, she was sure it had involved death and suffering, and he was not finished yet. 

“You know more than a woman ought to know. Why aren’t you content with cooking and cleaning for your father like any dutiful daughter?”

“God gave me the gift of healing. Who am I to turn away such gift?”

“Hmm, yes. And you are good at it too. You father can’t be too happy to be surpassed by a mere girl.”

She didn’t know what to answer. No, her father was not happy, but she would not speak of her private grief over causing him pain. Marchal didn’t seem to expect an answer either, and after a moment he spoke again.

“Recently I held a child in my arms as she bled to death. I could have used your skills then.”

“Why didn’t you bring her to me?”

“There was too much blood on the ground already, when I found her. Death was waiting by her side when I came, to move her would only have caused unnecessary pain.”

Claudine wrapped her shawl tighter around her. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from him, but it had certainly not been a wistful tale of a murdered child.

“Why are you here Monsieur Marchal? The hour is late and you look like you need a meal and a bed, not a nighttime conversation.”

“I do. But I am not in the habit of letting loose ends go unattended. The question is; is that what you are? My King trusts you. I’m here to make sure his trust isn’t misplaced.”

“How can I prove such a thing if you don’t think my conduct are proof enough yet?”

“I admit you have shown nothing but discretion and intelligence in our earlier encounters, but is that enough? Who are you? What are your passions? You have a pretty face and lithe body- does his Majesty sleep with you?”

“No!”

“Would you want him to?” Most ladies of the court hankers for the King’s notice, however brief. You have been singled out like few others.”

Claudine thought about the King, of his beautiful face and guarded, intelligent eyes. The self control and haughtiness, but also of the way he had looked at her and what he had seen. He had not seen a woman, but a doctor. She didn’t want him to see anything else. But how could she convey to Fabien Marchal that she would serve and love the King her whole life for giving her this opportunity she had never really thought would be hers.

“He is my King”, she said after a long pause.

Marchal nodded. “As he is mine. And my duty, above any other thing, is his safety.”

“Isn’t my duty too?”

He looked at her thoughtfully and then he slowly stretched out his hand and wrapped it around her throat. Not choking her, but still tight enough so she could feel her own pulse beat against his fingers. So, this was the end, then. Claudine had always thought death would come with cold fingers to pluck her life from her, but his hand was unexpectedly warm. She would die and her father would die and then perhaps another fire and it would all be a tragic accident. She looked into his dark eyes and saw no anger, but no compassion either. Was there any regret, or would he relish in taking her life? And once again words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Do you enjoy killing?”

“It’s a part of my responsibilities.”

“Yes, I know, but do you feel pleasure in taking another human’s life?”

“Do you take pleasure in healing?”

“Of course I do.”

“Why?”

This was so much easier to answer.

“When someone needs me and I realise what I can do to help, then it feels good. Everything I read, everything I learn I use so I can be better at helping those in need. I want to save life and to ease pain. And when I am successful and I know my skills haven’t failed me, that is a wonderful feeling.”

He pulled her closer, the hand tightening its grip. It was strange, Claudine thought, the things you noticed when you were about to die. How cold her feet were and how the wool of her shawl scratched her neck slightly. She saw a small spot of dried blood on Marchal’s cheekbone and when he bowed his head down towards hers, she caught the fleeing scent of perfume, her nose picking up warm, woody resins, ambergris and musk.

“No, I don’t think it’s only the pleasure of healing,” he whispered. “For me, there is no better feeling than to hold a life in my hands, to know I have the power over life and death. And I believe it’s the same for you. Ah yes, I understand now what I saw in your eyes when you saved that man’s life. It was triumph in them when you stood there with your hands bloody, knowing with your whole being it was your actions alone who decided a fate. You and I are more alike than I thought.” 

An eternity of seconds passed where Claudine’s heartbeats rose to a thundering storm in her ears. Then he stepped back and removed his hand. The cool air caressed her throat, making it feel oddly naked.

“But you will choose life every time and you will not harm our King. There is no darkness in you, no wish to cause sorrow and you will not go against your nature. You will have nothing to fear from me.”

He disappeared into darkness, the door opening and shutting softly behind him. Claudine remained still until her heart had slowed to its normal pace. She was safe now though she still felt confused over what had convinced him to trust her. When she was finally breathing normally again she bolted the door and covered the last glowing embers before she took her rushlight and went to bed. Sleep, however, eluded her until long after daybreak.


	2. The King's Doctor, At Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king has taken to a fever and Claudine is sent for. Takes place during episode 7, just after Claudine has found her father poisoned.

Claudine stared up at Monsieur Bontemps in incomprehension. How could she leave her father? Then his meaning crystallised and took form in her mind. A choice; to save her father or to save the King and with him, France. She looked down on her father and saw the blood seeping out of his mouth and his ashen face. No, it was not her choice because she could not save him no matter what she did. Her choice was to either watch helplessly as he died or go to the King. It ought to make her decision easier, but she still clutched her father in her arms, hoping he would regain consciousness and speak to her one last time, though she knew he never would.

"We must leave”, Bontemps repeated and Claudine knew what she had to do. She carefully laid her father down, trying to make him comfortable even if he would never know it. With as much haste as possible she splashed water on her hands, washing away the blood, before she collected her remedies. It was then she noticed her father’s casket and saw the empty compartment. She found the bottle, lying where her father must have been sitting when he first started to vomit blood. It was empty, but when she sniffed it, the smell was not quite what she expected from what she knew it was supposed to contain.

She considered telling Monsieur Bontemps of the terrible suspicion growing in her mind, but when she saw his anguished face, she kept quiet. He ought to know, he must be told, but perhaps it would be kinder to not add yet another worry right now. And he wasn’t the man to deal with it, Claudine knew. There was another man who would be better equipped to take care of threats towards the King.

Finding the King’s bedroom without the King deepened Bontemps worry to real fear and Claudine was left alone while he went to search. She walked restlessly around the room, blind to its grandeur. Forced inactivity when she had expected to be hard at work was not welcome. The thoughts she didn’t want to dwell on swirled in her mind. Tears, yet unshed, rose in her eyes and she blinked hard, fighting to keep them away.

The doors burst open and Fabien Marchal walked in, taking in her presence and the King’s absence in one quick glance around the room.

“Where is his Majesty?”

“I don’t know. We came back, and he was gone. Monsieur Bontemps is searching for him.”

He turned to leave, but then he gave her another glance and took a few long strides back towards her.

“Who made this?” he demanded, putting his hand under her chin and turning her head so he could better see the wound on her temple and the bruise on her cheek. “Who dares to strike the King’s doctor?”

“My father,” she answered, her voice quivering slightly.

Marchal’s brows furrowed. “Your father! I will speak to him.”

Claudine opened her mouth, but her grief welled up inside and rendered her unable to speak. Instead she put a hand to his chest as if that alone could make him understand.

“What’s the matter, girl. Speak up!” His tone was harsh, but he didn’t remove her hand. She could sense his heartbeats through her palm, slow and steady and it steadied her and she found her words again.

“It’s not that he hit me. He was angry, yes, and I lost conscience But when I woke up he was laying beside me, dying.”

“Dying?”

“Yes. And oh, that’s not all. I think- I’m almost sure he was poisoned. He had drunk a cordial he thought would calm him, but there was something wrong with it. And Monsieur Marchal, it was the same potion he wanted to give to the King!”

With those words Claudine’s self control abandoned her and the despair she had tried to push away suddenly washed over her in a great flood. More by instinct than reason she took a step forward and buried her face at Marchal’s breast. The fine cloth of his doublet against her skin and the warm scent of his perfume felt comforting. In that moment she could think of no better solace than to stand here and cry into the chest of the most dangerous man in France. She could feel him tense, but then he almost gingerly put his hand on the back of her head and held her for a moment. Then he gently pushed her away, placing his hands on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes.

“There will be time to mourn your father later. Now you must do your duty and I will go to mine. You will heal the King and I promise you I will find out who is responsible for your father’s death. They will not escape me.”

He raised his hand to her cheek, wiping away the tears.

“You can do this. You must.”

Claudine swallowed and nodded. “Yes, yes I can. I will not weaken again.”

After he left, Claudine sorted her medicines and tools, preparing to have everything ready when they returned with the king. She was the King’s doctor, and she had work to do. After she could be her father’s daughter, again.


	3. No One Must Know of My Presence Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during episode 8, after Marchal has gone to Claudine for help.

After his first outburst, Marchal let Claudine put the poultice on his inflamed eyes, securing it all with a piece of clean linen. He moved his head from side to side as if to get a sense of the surrounding room. Claudine felt a surge of pity. It must cost him to be rendered blind when the poison had already made him too vulnerable. She crouched beside him, putting her hand on his forehead which was clammy and cold.

“Do you know when you got the poison inside you?”

There was a tone of bitterness in his voice. “I coughed blood late last night and then it grew worse. I’m fairly sure it was given to me earlier in the evening.” 

“I will give you Wine of Squills to drink now to help you purge as much poison as possible. It will be a very unpleasant night night for you, I’m afraid.”

“I imagine it will be worth it to survive.”

When he had drunk the cordial she helped him to her father’s bed. It was slow work as cramps made him stop several times, doubling over in pain. Claudine stayed by his side the whole night, watching poison and cure fight over his body. She was not at all sure he would survive, there had been many hours for the poison to do its damage. But by her estimate he had got a smaller dose than her father had and he was also in his prime, strong and healthy. The attacks grew less frequent and less violent as the night passed and she felt more and more certain he would make it through the ordeal. 

By dawn the attacks had waned and the ugly marks on Marchal’s skin had faded. Claudine allowed herself to rest for a few hours. When she awoke he was sleeping, but when she touched his arm to wake him up, he woke up much more abruptly than she had expected. Before she could react he seized her wrist and dragged her down on the bed, twisting so he was on top, his body heavy and hard against hers. Her arms were painfully wrenched up above her head and she almost cried out in pain. Then she realised he wasn’t fully awake, and though her first impulse was to fight, she willed herself to lay still instead, and spoke in a voice sounding much calmer than she felt.

“Monsieur Marchal. Fabien. Let go of me. You know who I am and you know I’m not going to harm you. But you are hurting me right now. Please, let go.”

For a moment nothing happened, but then he relaxed and moved away from her, releasing her as he did so. Claudine sat up and massaged her wrists. She felt a bit shaken, she had forgotten he was a man for whom violence came all too easily. 

“I apologise.”

“You were startled and I imagine your nerves played a trick on you. How do you feel now?”

“Better, I believe.The pain is fading. I’m thirsty. What is your judgement, physician?”

“You will live. For now I will only give you chamomile tea, but if you continue to improve you can have broth to drink later.”

“And my eyes?” 

“A few more days. I will have a better idea of when after I have changed the bandages. You will need to rest and build your strength, anyway.”

Marchal sighed and turned away from her, but Claudine studied him carefully for a few moments. In the hazy state between dream and consciousness he must have mistaken her for the person who had poisoned him. He knew who it was, she was certain of that and he was angry over it, but she could also sense he felt betrayed and hurt. Suddenly she was sure it must be a woman who had done this to him, a woman he knew. Perhaps even loved, or at least trusted well enough to let his guard down. 

Later, when he asked her about love potions, her suspicions was confirmed. She wondered who this woman could be. Most likely one of the beautiful and elegant ladies of the court. They never noticed her, but she had watched them in their glittering clothes and complicated hairstyles. To her they all seemed like gaily chattering birds and she found it surprised her a little that someone like Fabien Marchal would be interested in such a woman. A woman who must be play a very dangerous game she didn’t want Marchal to find out about. And who must also be responsible for her father’s death. 

They day passed with no relapses, even though Marchal’s eyes were still much too inflamed when Claudine checked. She went on with her usual work, making sure to draw the bed curtains to hide him every time someone came to the house. By evening, after being able to drink some broth, he had enough strength to sit up in bed. Even if Marchal had accepted her orders of rest, she understood that for an active man this enforced immobility, paired with being sightless, must be very hard for him to endure. To distract him she talked about her work, describing what she was doing at her work table as she mixed herbs for cordials and potions. He asked her a few intelligent questions, and soon Claudine was lost in the first real discussion she had had since her father died. She talked with plenty of people every day, but it had been a long time since she had spoken with someone who seemed to understand what she was talking about.

“You are not a stranger to the art of medicine”, she told him happily when she was cleaning away her day’s work.

“I like to read,” he answered, but then added. “And I have found that knowledge of human anatomy is useful for my line of work.”

Claudine felt suddenly cold. “You mean for-”

“For torture, yes” There was a slight pause. “You don’t approve.”

“I saw what you did to the man you brought here. I found it barbaric!”

After her outburst she was afraid she had provoked him, but he answered in an even voice. 

“That man had robbed and murdered innocent people on the King’s road where they should have been safe. Should I not have tried to find out who employed him? Or do you think those men should have free rein?”

“No, no, of course not. I only wish there was no need to cause such pain and I wish the world wasn't like this. I guess you call me naive.”

“Somewhat perhaps. It’s a beautiful dream. My services wouldn’t be needed in a better world, but it’s not the world we live in. Do you think the King’s enemies would back down if he stopped trying to outmanoeuvre them? If I wasn’t here to do the bloody, dirty, jobs needed to protect him, do you think the King would still be alive? And you, surely you must know it’s only the King’s grace who allows you to live this life. Where would you be without it?”

Claudine blinked and paused. If the King hadn’t elevated her beyond the limits of her sex she would, at the best, do midwifery. And the worst, like a dark shadow in the back of her mind, there was the frightening accusation of witchcraft.

“I suppose you are right.”

“I am right. You think it’s distasteful, and it is, but it’s also necessary. The King’s foes are ruthless and they don’t care who is caught in their conspiracies and what the cost will be. Like your father. No one could be certain the King would drink the poisoned potion and, indeed, it was not the King who suffered.”

A sharp pang of grief flashed through Claudine. “But you know who did it now? Who killed my father and tried to do the same to you?”

“I believe so. But I need more proof. I have been blind long before this,” he gestured at the bandages over his eyes. “And now when I can see again, I still don’t know if I want to condemn an innocent woman, or not. Right now my feelings tell me she is guilty, but am I right?. Perhaps it is as well I’m bound here for the moment so I can’t take any reckless actions.”

“But you will find out.”

“Oh yes, I will.”

A little later when Claudine brought him water, he stretched out a hand, feeling for hers and she gave it to him. He brought it closer to his face.

“I am sorry I hurt you- I should have known it was you this morning.”

“How so?”

He smiled. “The scent of orange blossoms and a light touch- who else could it be?”

Claudine blushed and tried to take her hand back, but he didn’t let go at once. “You saved my life. I thank you.”

Still flushed she retired but yet again could not sleep for a long time. Somehow Fabien Marchal seemed to have that effect on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The remedies Claudine prescribes are actual 17th century medicines. I used _The London Practice of Physick, Or The Whole Practical Part of Physick_ by Thomas Willis, Thomas Basset and William Crooke, published 1685 as a reference.


	4. My Choice Is To Protect the Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during the end of episode 10 and and beyond. It will all be proved wrong when season 2 finally arrive.

When Claudine finally was dismissed from Madame’s deathbed, she was exhausted. The past few days has passed with no real sleep and when she had remembered to eat, it had still only been a few hurried bites, only enough to stop her from passing out. As long as she fought for the Princess life she had not noticed the lack of rest and nourishment, but now it all caught up with her. As she slowly made her way through the back corridors of Versailles, her legs shook and black dots flickered before her eyes. But, she had not walked many steps before Monsieur Bontemps came hurrying after her.

“I understand you are very tired, but the King asks you to do another task before you leave.”

Claudine tried to blink away the black dots which quite obscured Bontemps face and tried to focus on what he said. 

“Of course.”

“Monsieur Marchal has received a stab wound in his duties. He has been seen to, but the King want you to make sure he has got the proper care.”

The tiredness was suddenly gone. “I’ll go at once.”

A servant was dispatched to show Claudine to Marchal’s quarters, and she hurried after him, almost stumbling on his heels. She wondered how badly hurt Marchal was, and if he really had received the proper care. But when they reached Marshal's room the door was locked, and no one answered Claudine’s knock. Her guide left her to stare at the closed door, wondering what she would do now. For a moment she worried that he would lie alone and unable to answer her, but surely a wounded man would not lock himself inside. It was more likely he wasn’t there at all. She leaned back against the wall, her tiredness returning in full force. The corridor was unusually quiet, the passages in Versailles were usually bustling with people running to and fro. Perhaps it was Marchal's reputation which kept people away from this part of the palace, or he might have chosen this room because of the solitude. Regardless the reason she found the silence soothing. There wasn’t much she could do now than to go home and rest. Closing her eyes she let herself slide down to the floor instead. She was only going to sit here for a little while before she left.

But in the undisturbed silence she couldn’t help thinking of how she had failed everyone; the King, Monsieur, and most of all Madame herself. The King had expected her to save the Princess, but the poison had damaged too much. Claudine suspected it had been given to Henriette for a long period, gradually weakening her body until the last fatal dose had been administered. In her mind she could still hear Madame’s pitiful screams as the poison relentlessly destroyed her life. It had been a horrible death that no one, least of all the kind and beautiful Princess, should have to endure.

To ease her mind Claudine conjured up another memory, a memory she had returned to again and again the last days whenever she had felt a need to find strength and new energy. She saw Fabien’s face as she had removed the bandages, relieved to see his eyes were healing. 

“What do you see”, she had asked, wondering if his sight had been damaged. And he had looked at her and told her he saw the truth. She smiled at the memory and relaxed a little. She had, at least once, saved someone from the terrifying death poison brought.

Claudine woke up when someone shook her shoulder and she found herself curled up on the cold stone floor. Disoriented she looked up and saw a blurred shape leaning down over her. She blinked, and the world came together in the shape of Fabien Marchal.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see to your wound. But you weren’t here.” 

Clumsily she stood up, she felt stiff and chilled. It was dark, so she must have slept there for hours, though she still felt exhausted. Stretching out a hand she touched his face which felt blazing hot under her touch. 

“You are running a fever! You should be in bed.”

He caught her hand and rubbed if, “I do not have a fever, but you are cold as death. Come, you can’t stay here or it will be you who will need a doctor.” 

He took her arm and led her into his room. Claudine couldn't make out much of it as it seemed to swirl around her and she would have fallen if Marchal hadn’t kept her upright. He led her to his bed and made her lay down on it.

“I can’t,” she mumbled, dim notions of propriety telling her she shouldn’t do this, but she was too tired to resist. The bed linen feel cold and she shivered and Marchal covered her with a blanket.

“Hush. You need to rest.”

Sleep beckoned, but she was still too cold to fully drift off. She could hear Marchal moving around the room, but then the light went out and she could feel how the bed dipped down as he lay down behind her. His arm encircled her and pulled her closer and finally warmth seeped into her body and she could sleep again.

When Claudine woke up it was morning, light trickling into the room from the closed shutters. Waking up was slow and reluctant, she felt warm and safe and most of all she wanted to go back to sleep again. But gradually she became aware of how stiff she felt and how her body demanded food and drink after its long neglect. And she was not in her own bed; what she could see of the room beyond the bed curtains was unfamiliar to her. Then she remembered she was in Marchal’s room and she realised he was sleeping against her back, his arm still flung over her waist. It ought to frighten her, but it made her feel protected instead, shielded against the world.

But she couldn’t stay here. She hadn’t fulfilled the King’s request and she needed to go home and change to clean clothes and to eat. Despite that she remained where she was, savouring the moment a little while longer. Marshal's breathing rhythm changed and she realised he must be awake, but she still didn’t move and he didn’t remove his arm either. 

“What happened yesterday?”

“There was an attempt to abduct the Dauphine. We caught most of the attackers, but not yet the man who planned it.”

“But you know who?”

“I have my suspicions, but it will not be easy to prove. I did, however, found the woman who caused your father’s death.”

“And who poisoned you too.”

“Yes. She is dead now.”

“Did- did she suffer?”

“No, her death was quick and clean.” There was a pause. “Would you have wanted her to?”

“I’m glad she is dead, but I’m glad it was quick too.”

There was another, longer pause. Claudine thought about her father’s murderer and what she had meant for the man behind her.

“Did you love her?”

“Hmm.” 

He rolled over on his back and removed his arm. Claudine slipped out of the bed and fumbled after her shoes, which she had no recollection of removing, but wasn't on her feet anymore. She bit her lips, furious at herself. It was a question she had no right to ask, and she wished she hadn’t as soon as it slipped out from her mouth. With her back to the bed she rummaged in her casket after fresh bandages before she turned back. Marchal was sitting at the edge of the bed, looking intently at her, but she avoided his gaze.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” But even is his tone was curt, he didn’t sound angry.

“I will leave as soon as I have looked at your injury.”

“It’s a mere scratch, but very well, go ahead.”

Busying herself with the familiar tasks of her trade, Claudine's mortification receded somewhat. The wound was more than a scratch, but not much more. Knowing what horrific damage a stab wound could do, she guessed the knife must have hit a rib instead of piercing an internal organ. 

“You have had an amazing luck.”

“I know. I don’t expect to die in my bed of old age, but I still would prefer it to happen later rather than sooner.”

Claudine packed away her things. “You won’t die from this unless it gets infected. Rest as much as can and try to not move so you open up the wound again. And I want you to come to me tomorrow so I can see how well it heals.”

With that she took her leave, grateful for not having to linger any longer, but still somewhat reluctant to go.


	5. What Do You See?

As the days passed after the Princess death, Claudine returned to her normal routines. She helped those who came knocking on her door and she went to court when summoned. And all the while she worked, her thoughts were constantly on Fabien. At first she told herself it was because she worried his wound would be infected, but he healed without complications. He came by a few times so she could be certain all was well, but eventually she had to concede he had no more need of her attentions.

Then she decided she merely thought of him because she tried to puzzle out who her father’s killer was. Fabien had not told her and she hadn’t dared to press the question, but she still wondered. She had never taken part in the court gossip, but now she listened with a keen ear to the whispers in the halls and corridors of Versailles. It was easy to learn which of the court ladies whom were no longer present, and after overhearing a particular conversation, Claudine was sure she knew who was responsible for her father’s death.

She was walking down a staircase, just behind two elegant women. None of them bothering to lower their voices if they even noticed anyone was within earshot of them.

“It seems Madame de Clermont has gone back to Pau. Well, surely she will be back after a suitable number of months.”

“When she has regained her figure.”

“Indeed. Everyone knows how she has favoured Monsieur Marchal.”

“That brute. I can’t imagine what she saw in him.”

“You can’t, my dear? Oh, well, clearly Madame Clermont would disagree with you.”

The ladies burst out in a tinkling mean-spirited laugh and Claudine stopped and let them walk on so she wouldn’t hear anything more. She remembered Madame Clermont well; a woman who was no longer young but still stunningly beautiful. A woman with hard eyes, but she was not alone in possessing that among the court ladies. There was a daughter too, an extremely pretty girl the same age as Claudine and to her vague relief, Mademoiselle Clermont was still at court. Claudine wondered if she knew what had happened to her mother. She rather thought so as she saw the girl glide through the throngs of beautifully dressed people, smiling a sweet smile which didn’t seem to reach her eyes.

There was a certain relief in knowledge, and though she felt no happiness over Madame Clermont’s death, it still gave some peace of mind knowing her father had been avenged. But her enlightenment also brought a new and unexpected misery. Madame de Clermont had been sophisticated and experienced. Even if Claudine had possessed the fine clothes and impeccable manners of a noblewoman, she would still have been as different from Madame Clermont as night was from day. It should not bother her, she had always strived to be clean and presentable, but had never cared for the finery and trinkets other girls hankered after. She had found her men’s clothes vastly more practical and comfortable to wear and did not miss her gowns. Now she went home and stared into her mirror for a long time. She had been told she was pretty, Fabien had even said so too, but though her features were pleasant and well-formed enough, she had nothing of the radiant allure of Madame Clermont.

“And I wouldn’t want it either”, she firmly told her mirror image. For all her beauty and grace, Madame Clermont had been a killer, and Fabien Marchal had shown no mercy, regardless of what he had felt for her.

But she still felt miserable and eventually she had to confess to herself that she cared for Monsieur Marchal in a way she had not thought possible. She sternly told herself her sentiments were unwise and in her mind she heard the admonishments in her father’s dry voice;

“How can you form an attachment to a man like that? Daughter, I always thought you such an intelligent girl, how can you be so foolish? You know he is not worthy of you; a heartless and cold-blooded man like that.”

But Fabien had been kind to her in his own way and even if she didn’t understood him, he seemed to understand her. Starved of companionship as she was, it was perhaps not so peculiar if she felt fondness for the only one who had offered her a measure of sympathy since her father’s death. It may make her a fool, but who would know if she felt a secret joy because Fabien Marchal lived and breathed? No one at all, least of all Fabien himself who, she was sure, could only think of her in terms of her usefulness and nothing else.

She often saw him in crowds around the King, both of them being satellites to the sun, but though he gave her a nod when they met, he did not speak to her. There was no reason to, unless he needed her medical knowledge and, Claudine felt, that was for the best. So she was very surprised when he knocked on her door late one evening. He strode into the room, barely acknowledging her and placed a book on the table.

“I found it in Paris, quite by chance, but I thought it may interest you.” 

He sounded brusque, as if he didn’t care if she found it interesting, or not, but he seemed to have come for no other purpose than to gift her with it. Claudine leafed through the pages, her interest instantly piqued. The book was filled with drawings, interspersed with notes in a small but easily read hand. The drawings were detailed and skilfully made and Claudine felt a stir of excitement. The book must have belonged to a physician, and she already looked forward to read it.

“Thank you”, she said and turned her head toward Fabien, only to find he was much closer than she had realised. He stood just behind her and bewildered she turned back to her book. He came closer, and she became acutely how close hís body was to hers. His scent, by now so familiar to her, seemed to embrace her and she found it hard to breathe properly. The feeling intensified when he stretched out his arm and traced the outline of a drawing, very close to where her hand rested.

“Are you afraid of me, Claudine?”

“I should be, I know, but no, I’m not.”

“If the King-”

“If I fall from grace, you will follow the King’s orders, no matter what they contain. I don’t doubt it.”

“Yes, I will.”

He fell silent and Claudine watched their hands so close together. She did not have the white and dainty fingers of a lady, but her hand still looked very small next to his.

“Do you want me to leave?”

She did not. “Please stay.”

Claudine placed her hand on his. Fabien exhaled sharply, but he didn’t move. Still she snatched her hand back, blushing over her own daring.

“Do you still want the answer to the question you asked me?”

“I do.”

“It might not please you much.”

Claudine turned so she could look at him. She had got used to read his face where very little emotions ever showed, and there was a sense of turmoil under the calmness of his face.

“It doesn’t matter. How can I decide upon an action if I don’t know the truth?”

He smiled briefly, but then turned serious again..

“I guess you have an idea who she was by now?”

Claudine nodded, and he continued.

“She was a very beautiful woman. Love don’t come easily for a man like me, and she went to my head like wine. I was a fool who let myself be intoxicated by her face and form though I knew a lady like her would have nothing to do with the likes of me without reasons. She was a dream come flesh, but no, I did not love her. Inside she was tainted and twisted, she would have made her own daughter a whore is that had advanced her plans. And now she is dead.”

“Mademoiselle Clermont is still alive.”

“She was not her mother’s accomplish. But don’t delude yourself I let her be out of compassion- she remains here because I find her useful. I’m not a good man.” 

“I know. But I think you are a honest man.”

He looked surprised. “Perhaps. And what do you think I can be for you? I have nothing to offer but death.”

She looked at him carefully. Over time his face and body had grown familiar to her, and she had touched him many times in the course of her profession, Now it was just Claudine the girl who tentatively touched his cheek. He closed his eyes, letting her fingers explore his cheekbones and forehead, tracing his lips before she stood on her toes and kissed him with her lips closed. When she stood back he had opened them again, his dark eyes betraying no emotions.

“What do you see when you look at me, Fabien?”

He looked at her for an intense moment before he spoke. 

“I see everything I am not. I see how your eyes shine with compassion like light in darkness. I see beauty and virtue. I see truth.”

She let out her breath a little shakingly. If she had once dreamt of declarations of love they had never sounded like this and they had never been told by a man like Fabien Marchal. Perhaps she would regret her decisions one day, but not now- now she felt happy.

“I will trust it will be enough.”

He took her face in his hand and kissed her then and Claudine twined her arms around him and kissed him back.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the whole I’m quite pleased with this, even if I surprised myself with writing a love story with a happy ending. Well, a happy-ish love story anyway, the hero really isn’t a hero and even if he behaves himself here, he hasn’t really redeemed himself. I’m not all that much into the trope of a bad guy being bad to everyone but that one special person, and here I am having written something that at least rubs shoulders with that trope. I must be turning soft in my old age.


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